The Distant Promise
The iron gate groaned against the stone, a sound like a dying lung clearing its throat, as I stood before the High Tribunal of the Ashen Spire, the weight of the Crown’s silence pressing down on my skull with the density of deep water. I was the Keeper of the Archives, a title that implied a stewardship of knowledge but functioned, in the eyes of the Court, as a mark of heresy, for I had...
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